


Victorian Eldritch

by chaemera



Series: Victorian Eldritch [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Gen, Horror, Occult, Psychological Horror, Vampires, Victorian, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 19,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaemera/pseuds/chaemera
Summary: Ann Eglantine, an undergraduate student of veterinary science, gets dragged into the occult side of the world without any regard for her wishes on the matter.





	1. Black Velvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story begins in a most discomfiting manner.

Pain was the first thing she noticed. Everything hurt. Her belly ached like she hadn't eaten in days. Her jaws ached like she'd been grinding her teeth for hours. Her very bones felt bruised and battered.

Then she noticed the darkness. Why was it so dark? Where was she?

She tried to move, and discovered herself bound. Metal clanked as she tried to lift her hands, clanked again as she jerked in surprise. She was fully secured, bands crossing her wrists, ankles, waist, neck...

What had happened?

"Ah good, you're awake. I was beginning to wonder."

She twisted to try and see who spoke, but she could see nothing. She must be blindfolded, she could feel it around her head.

"Easy now," the voice continued, with a tone like one might use to gentle a skittish horse. It was a nice voice, like dark velvet left in the sun, and if the situation weren't so strange, so frightening, she might even want to learn more about its owner.

The voice didn't seem very surprised as she yanked again at her restraints, a hoarse whimper making her throat creak like old leather, "Please, you'll just hurt yourself if you continue. Can you speak?" What kind of a question was that?! "Can you tell me your name?"

...what was her name?

Her tongue slid over her lips, and part of her was surprised to find that nothing obstructed it. What sort of person kidnaps a girl, chains her to a table and blindfolds her, but leaves her ungagged?

"Ah..." Her voice hurt, rivers of fire scratching down her throat as she tried to swallow, tried to speak again. "A-a-"

The strange voice tsked softly, almost... sympathetically? "Calm yourself, take your time."

"A-ann. My name," and she had to force another swallow, the pain of it making her shudder, "my name is Ann."

"Oh good, good," the voice purred, sounding extraordinarily pleased. Why would her name elicit such a response? "I wasn't sure you would be coherent. You see, my darling Ann, you've run into a rather rough spot of trouble, of a sort that most don't come out of as well as you have. Close your eyes now, I'm going to take off that mask."

It was well that he warned her, even through her eyelids the light felt like a lance through her skull, and she whined, an instinctual, animal sound.

"You see, my dear, you were killed. Rather messily I might add. It must have been a rather young vampire, no control at all."

Panic took her, and she screamed.


	2. The Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The situation is clarified... somewhat.

“So… what happens now?”

“An interesting question. I have a few thoughts, if you’d care to hear them.”

She sat in a palatial study, half-engulfed by an armchair that seemed more velvet than structure, and feeling like she’d been dragged behind a carriage for the better part of the night. In more ways than one, really; though her body continued to protest, her mind wasn’t much better. Waking up strapped to a table, with a hole in your memory, and being told you’d been forcibly turned into a vampire isn’t the best way to start an evening.

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Oh, most certainly,” commented the man whose house she was in as he fiddled with a tea service. He was a strange one, and she had no idea what to make of him. Seeing him on the street, you might think him one of the local dandies, or a minor noble, dressed nicely and well-groomed but without the pomp and fanfare of the upper elite. But she somehow doubted many of them had a reinforced basement with iron restraints and a hidden door.

…well, she hoped not, at least.

“Everyone has choices, my dear.” A clink of porcelain as he lifted his cup and walked over to the hearth, not seeming to pay any particular notice to her where she sat, huddled really, in her chair. He hadn’t even offered her a cup. She could go for one, something to settle her nerves, give her something familiar in this weird, dizzying time… and yet some part of her was oddly repulsed by the thought. Remembering the flavor of her favorite tea made her tongue hunch backwards in her mouth before she noticed it, her throat working, and her fingers knotted together painfully tight as she struggled against the breakdown she could feel clawing at the back of her throat. Don’t think about it, just let it go…

“Everyone has a choice. But the consequences of that choice, there’s the tricky part,” and he finally turned his head to smile at her. A nice smile. But his eyes where like cold glass, behind the rims of his spectacles, and she felt rather like some specimen under a microscope as he looked at her. “If you want, I will see you to the door, and that will be the end of it.” Another sip from his cup, his actions thoughtful, and then he placed cup and saucer on the mantelpiece and began to pace ( _prowl_ , her mind tried to say) slowly around the room. “But you are in a rather delicate situation, one which you are not precisely ready to deal with, unless I miss my guess. And I have answers to those questions I can see tearing holes in your tongue,” he chuckled softly, pausing at a window and lifting the curtain to gaze absently out at the street.

“You… you weren’t lying, were you? About,” and her throat tried to close in panic. She clenched her hands together and forced a swallow. “About what happened to me.”

“No. But neither will I go into detail unless you truly wish it,” and again those piercing blue eyes turned to her, and she frantically shook her head in negation. Bad enough to think about what had happened, she didn’t want the gory details. Literally gory, from what little she knew of the vampire condition. “Suffice to say,” he continued, “that you interest me, and you may prove useful to my endeavors, but you must be willing. I do not have the time or the attention to keep you constantly on a leash, as it were.” His tone and his expression made it a joke, but she’d seen that room. Who, or what, was this man?

While she was still mulling that, the doorbell rang, and her “host” gestured for her to remain in her chair as he turned that way, frowning faintly as he went. She realized then she still didn’t know the man’s name. Didn’t even know where she was in the city. A moment of hesitation, and then she forced a swallow and rose to her feet in a small act of rebellion. To hell with him. She was going to look around.

Never mind that her knees had a disturbing tendency to try knocking together.

A glance out the window told her where she was. Midtown, near the river; she recognized the clock tower instantly. Not a bad district, but hardly impressive. It was one of those dismal nights of fog and drizzle, and she wrapped her arms around herself and turned towards the hearth… and found herself halted, shaking a little, staring at the coals and cinders, her belly clenched tight.

She wasn’t cold.

Not really.

Maybe she should sit back down.

She’d barely gotten herself settled again when she heard footsteps headed back towards the study, and soon after her host led another man in, saying “I understand your position, Inspector, most certainly. Here is the young lady in question.” The Inspector was a bear of a man, all belligerent sideburns and scowling brows, but she nearly wept in relief to see him. “Inspector Raeburn!” and her fingers knotted together in her lap in an effort to keep herself in her chair instead of flinging herself upon him hysterically. She would not carry on like some damsel in a cheap novel, dammit.

“Easy miss, easy,” the Inspector rumbled, frowning down at her, and she dropped her eyes to her hands as he scratched at his cheek in thought. “Well. Hrm.” It was never comforting when someone made those noises, policeman or doctor or anyone. Finally though, he sighed and ran both hands back over his thinning hair, like a man trying desperately to keep himself from shouting at anyone that gave him even half a reason. “Marbas, dammit, why couldn’t you just keep your hands to yourself for once?”

Her host simply chuckled from his spot near the hearth, his tea once again in his hands. She could learn to hate that little smile…

“Miss Eglantine,” and her attention wrenched back to the Inspector like a dislocated bone snapping back into socket. “You are in a most delicate position at the moment, as I’m sure you’re aware. Or mostly, at least.” She nodded, swallowing hard, and he grimaced before continuing, “Legally speaking, you must needs be listed as deceased.” That hit her like a kick to the gut, for some reason, and she could tell from his expression that it showed. “Your… benefactor,” and he glanced briefly towards the man at the hearth, his tone dripping irony, “has declared that you are not currently a danger to yourself or others, and that he’s willing to take responsibility for you until such time as you are deemed fit to see to yourself.” He made it sound rather like an illness, a bad case of the vapors that rendered her unfit for polite society. Well, perhaps it was. Just… more so.

“However,” and her throat clenched in terrified anticipation, but his next words shocked her perhaps more than all the rest together. “However, if this man treats you poorly, or behaves in any way unbecoming, you are to report him to the Constabulary immediately.” A snort of laughter was the only commentary from her host, but the Inspector’s frown was grave, “Do you understand, miss?”

“I… well, not really. I mean, this is a very strange situation, sir. But I will be sure to keep you appraised if the need arises.”

“Aye,” sighed the Inspector, rubbing at his forehead as though it ached and looking tired. So very tired. “Aye, that it is. Be careful, miss. And as for you,” and here he rounded on her host again, scowling fit to peel paint and pointing like he was brandishing a weapon, “I don’t care how many friends you have in the Special Division, next time you wait until we bloody call on you, understand?”

“Of course, Inspector.”


	3. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things can only be ignored for so long.

It was late. Far later than she usually stayed up, though she didn’t feel tired at all. Well, no, that was wrong. She felt exhausted, but not in the way that leant itself to sleep. More in the way that demanded leaning against a wall and staring into space. Maybe crying a bit. She could go for a good cry right about now, but the presence of her… host? Patron? Keeper? That man. He unnerved her and made her self-conscious in ways nobody else ever had, for some reason.

She’d tried to distract herself in his library, peering amongst the books and knickknacks, but what she recognized was hardly comforting. Pamphlets on anatomy, odd animals specimens in jars, an entire section on religion and folklore but organized in no method she could discern. In fact, she’d lost a good amount of time simply frowning at that set of shelves trying to figure out just how in blazes it was organized…

If only her belly would stop cramping. She’d thought it was just the fear, the shock, but it hadn’t subsided. If anything, it had gotten worse as the night had gone on, and her fingers tangled into her vest as another spasm pulled at her insides. She just… just wanted…

No, don’t think that.

Her lips peeled back from her teeth as she panted against the pain, eyes clenched shut. It eased, finally, but she couldn’t ignore the singing emptiness inside herself, as much as she tried.

“Is something the matter, my dear?”

It was him. She turned, trying to comport herself, but there was something that made it so hard. A smell? Her jaw clenched, “I haven’t been feeling all that well since… well, since I woke up.” It was him. She could smell him, even from across the room, hot and alive and…

Her mouth opened with an animal whine, her tongue extending, and she staggered towards him without thinking. How was she so close to him already?

His hand moved, and agony blossomed across her face.

When her senses cleared, she was lying on her back. Her tongue ran over her teeth, and before she had conscious control of herself she moaned; it was as though every delicacy she’d ever craved had been poured into her mouth, hot and thick and sweet. And then she recognized the taste.

Blood.

She tried to retch but it didn’t work. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t working right, inside her!

“Ah, there you are. Feeling better?” Her eyes snapped over to the man with the enigmatic smile where he leaned against the wall, a book in his hands, “You were merely hungry.”

“No! God, what did you do to me!” she half snarled, half whimpered as she sat up and scrubbed a hand against her mouth, dreading the possibility that it would come away stained, and torn between relief and further revulsion when it remained clean.

“Calm yourself, miss Eglantine.” Damn him, how dare he be so calm during all of this. “Nothing more outre than black pudding, if perhaps a bit more fresh than you’re used to.” She tried to retch again, but again it simply didn’t work. “Please, calm down, you’ll only harm yourself further if you continue,” and only now did his voice soften, and she shuddered as she felt his hand come to rest on her back. “You’ve hurt no one, consumed nothing human, I swear to you.” She had to believe him, the alternatives were more than she wanted to even consider right now. “But you must take better care of yourself from now on. Starvation will simply lead to a disastrous loss of control.”

“Get away from me,” she sobbed, though there were no tears. Those weren’t working either, it seemed. “I didn’t want this!”

“No, they never do,” was the quiet, contemplative remark as the man stepped away from her, moving to place his book back on its shelf. “Take a moment to compose yourself, miss Eglantine, then come find me in the study when you are ready. We have things to discuss.”

The door shut quietly, her face still in her hands, with wretched, dry heaves making her body shudder.


	4. The Study, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few questions answered, a few tasks given.

“Sit.”

His tone, his gesture, made it a request, but there was something about his bearing that did not. From behind his desk, this man that she only knew as “Marbas” regarded her thoughtfully as she folded herself into the same armchair as the last time she’d been in here.

“There are things which need to be done,” he finally said, dropping his eyes from her to his desk and lifting a pen, starting to write with quick, precise motions as he spoke. “I was fortunate enough to acquire garments which were near enough your size on short notice, but you will need more, and other supplies as well.” Her fingers tugged at the hem of the vest she wore self-consciously; it hadn’t slipped her notice that she was wearing different clothing than before, and some of the implications of that put her teeth on edge just as much as the rest of the situation put together. “I have prepared a list of people for you to speak to, and letters for them. They shall see to your needs.” Deft fingers capped his pen and lifted the paper from his desk as he blew gently upon it to dry the ink, then folded it smartly into thirds.

“Wait, please,” she said, finally finding her nerve. “So much has happened and you’ve told me nothing.” His hands paused, those bottomless blue eyes lifting back to her, but she didn’t detect any irritation in his expression and so forged on. “Why am I here? _How_ am I here? There hasn’t been a vampire attack in this city for decades, and even then all victims were dealt with by the Special Watch. Who even _are_ you?”

She wound down, a bit flustered at her own outburst, but her host (she would think of him that way, she decided) simply nodded slightly, lips pursed. “I do suppose you are owed some answers. Very well, miss Eglantine.” His attention turned back to the paper in his hands, though he continued to speak to her as he set it down and began the task of heating wax for a seal, a touch which made her blink a bit in surprise. “The reason you are here, specifically, is because I had several theories about the nature and progression of the vampire condition, and your unfortunate incident gave me an opportunity to test them. To your benefit, I would like to think.”

He tugged the small brass stamp out of the cooling wax and set the letter atop a small stack of similar such, “As to how, I have many connections that I make use of in my studies, and several of those reside within the Special Watch itself. I simply made my proposal to them, and they accepted.” That seemed a bit too neat to her, but she doubted she’d get much more out of him at the moment. “As for myself…” and here he trailed off, sitting back in his chair and tapping a finger to the bridge of his nose, thinking. “I am something of a scholar of oddities. I often work with the constables on their stranger cases,” and he glanced her way with a quirk of his eyebrows, indicating her own circumstances.

“Inspector Raeburn called you ‘Marbas.’ That can’t be your real name, that’s something out of the Key of Solomon, isn’t it?” This pulled a smile onto his lips, a truly amused expression and not the faintly-smiling mask he seemed to wear just as a matter of course. “Correct, though it serves well enough. When dealing with the sorts of things I study, it serves one well not to go handing out their true name every which way.” He gathered the small stack of letters into his hand, but paused there, absently neatening the pile as he pondered a moment. “You will undoubtedly hear me called many things,” he said finally as he offered the papers out to her, “and some of them may even be polite. Call me whatever you wish, it makes no difference to me.”

Frowning at that rather cryptic bit of ‘explanation,’ she stood and reached out to take the letters from him. “Here is the list of who you should approach,” and he offered her another paper, this one unsealed and with a short list of names and addresses penned upon it. “Each letter is labeled, you will have no trouble there.” Standing, he stepped to a nearby window and peeked through the curtains, “The rain will doubtless continue until morning. I strongly advise you,” and the grin he turned her way had sharp edges, “to be home before then. Take an umbrella on your way out.”


	5. Shadows and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann stretches her legs a bit, and meets some rather unique characters about the city.

It truly was a dismal night. Rain didn’t so much fall as drool towards the ground, dripping from overhangs into stagnant puddles without even enough impetus to run towards the nearest drain. There weren’t many folk out at this hour, but the streetlights hissed stubbornly against the dark all the same, and Ann frowned at the list in her hand as she stood under one, resolutely ignoring the pats and plops against her umbrella.

The nearest stop was first on the list, only a few streets over. At least this part of the evening seemed relatively sensible. If nothing else, her host seemed to have an eye for efficiency.

It wasn’t until she was counting down the numbers along the street that something else that had been nibbling at her mind came into focus. Every other business she passed was long closed, and rightly so come to think of it; it was so late that one could rightfully qualify it as morning by this point. She could even hear the mild uproar as the drinking establishments elsewhere in town started their last call. And yet there were full half a dozen names on this list for her to visit. Who were these people that kept such odd hours?

Ah, here we are. A jeweler?

A collection of tiny silver bells tinkled cheerfully as she pushed open the door, and she suddenly felt very drab and filthy as she glanced around the shop while seeing to her umbrella. Everything was delicate, bright, and carefully arranged; figurines resting on shelves, jewelry arrayed on stands, even a tiny ornate clock with its weights spinning this way and that under a glass dome. But where was the proprietor…?

“A customer at this hour?” The faintly nasal voice coming from further inside the shop was soon followed by the gangliest individual Ann had ever seen in her life, crowned by an almost ludicrously complicated set of jeweler’s spectacles pushed up on his forehead. She pressed her lips together to prevent an impolite sniggering at the spectacle, and instead dipped an abbreviated curtsy to the man, a mister MacKennaly if the list was to be believed. “Something like that, sir. I have a note for you.”

“A note, is it?” The jeweler’s head stretched forward on his spindly neck, and she swore to herself that if he became any more stork-like he would squawk and fly out through the nearest window. “I haven’t seen you by here before, what could you possibly be… oh.” He’d seen the seal on the letter she extended out towards him, and heaved a sigh fit to pop buttons from his waistcoat. “Gotten himself a new ‘assistant,’ has he? Well fine, let’s have it then.” A few moments spent in silence as MacKannaly squinted myopically at the paper (apparently his spectacles were not to be besmirched with mere reading), and then he tutted softly and turned back towards the rear of the shop, waving for her to follow with the letter, “I swear, I don’t know why I do business with that man. Do you know how hard it is to find silver in the purities he demands? At least he’s sensible about the quantities…” and so the complaints continued as she tagged along, apparently more just to take up conversational space than to impart any real distress. She was expected only to make sympathetic noises every so often as the jeweler rummaged out a small, wrapped parcel and handed it to her, finally finishing up his only moderately whiny monologue with “Here you are, miss. You be careful walking home, heard tell of a ghastly to-do not three blocks from here about a fortnight ago.”

About… oh.

“Ehm, yessir. Thank you.”

Back on the street, she fidgeted the parcel around in her bag, spending a bit more time than was strictly necessary to get it to lie properly. A fortnight? How long was she… incapacitated? Asleep? Dead? How even do you describe something like that? Some of the shock had started to wear off, at least; she could think about the event without wanting to scream and claw at herself, even if it did still make her insides clench unpleasantly.

…should she go see?

…no, probably not. Especially after so long, the scene wouldn’t even be cordoned off anymore. Just let it go, move on. After all, there was work to be done, and she didn’t want to find out firsthand if the stories about vampires and sunlight were true.

The next few stops were similar, though oddly diverse. A locksmith was next, grumbling about eccentrics and their damn-fool follies and what could anyone possibly do with such a strange key and good evening to you miss. A tailor that wore the most unsettling smile the entire time she was in the shop, almost like his face was stretched too tightly against his skull, but whose hands were mechanically professional as he measured her for garments. A woman in a hooded cloak standing quietly alone on a corner, who accepted her letter and nodded to her before leaving, all without speaking a single word.

She paused before the last stop on the list to actually take a moment to look at the letter she was to hand over. Good, heavy paper, the sort that wouldn’t have ink bleeding everywhere and which could stand up to some handling, but it took creases like the devil’s own scowl. And the signet pressed smartly into black wax: a circular field with an iron torch, lit, rendered in the heraldic style. Curious.

Ah, here was the last stop. A butcher’s shop?

Stepping inside was almost painful, the smell of fresh meats and offal crashing against her senses… not unpleasantly. Her throat worked and her mouth watered, and she had the singularly distracting sensation of her teeth _moving_ inside her mouth. It was well that the butcher himself was not waiting in the front shop and she had a moment to collect herself. No she would _not_ fling herself upon that pan of kidneys behind glass like a child offered a sweet, comport yourself woman.

“E-excuse me? Hello?” she called into the shop. “I’ve a letter for mister Scharfen?”

A rolling grunt more in keeping with disturbed bear than a person was her immediate reply, and the man that followed it through the rear door certainly followed that imagery. Good lord, what were they feeding this one? Easily two meters tall and almost half that across the shoulders, she couldn’t help but stare wide-eyed up at the man, suddenly feeling very small indeed. “Letter, have you? From?” And that accent could cause bruises, straight out of the northern territories as if his name didn’t clue her in. But the hand that took the letter from her trembling fingers was precise, his fingers never even brushing hers, and he split the seal without even bending the paper before reading.

Another grunt rattled her ribcage, and she was transfixed with a searching stare, before which she found herself… oddly perturbed. It felt like her back was prickling up and she discovered she was scowling, her brows pulled into a most belligerent angle. Why on earth was she snarling like a territorial hound at this man? She made an effort to control her expression, and the man grunted again, “Ah. Delivery he’ll have, tomorrow. You.” His demeanor had changed, and once she put her finger on how her chin tried to quiver just as he signed a blessing towards her, “Very sorry. You need, you ask, any time.” He knew. He _knew_ what had happened to her, probably told by the letter, and he wanted to help her.

No, don’t fling yourself upon the man and start weeping dammit. You barely even know his name.

A short, treacherous moment where she had to fight in a quavering breath, then she dabbed at her eye with a knuckle and nodded to him, “Thank you, sir. Yes, I’ll remember.” His face split in a smile that was obviously meant to be reassuring, and she offered him a somewhat watery one in return before turning back towards the door.

“Wait.”

Her hand on the latch, she turned back to find him offering out a small package, wrapped in paper. “Here. For walk home.” She could tell what was in it even without opening the wrapping, the scent invading her senses like the hands of a forceful lover. She was suddenly famished, and had to swallow hard before she could reply, dipping a curtsy to the butcher. “Again my thanks, sir. A good night to you.”

She made it perhaps half a block before she’d torn open the paper and scarfed down the raw liver like a starving dog. She didn’t even stop to consider what she was doing, actively avoided thinking about it really, but god and heaven she felt better with that inside her. She was going to have to get used to this, she supposed, but at least she knew she had one friend in the city that would help.

She actually was feeling moderately cheered by the evening’s walk as she turned her steps towards… well, ‘home’ was perhaps too strong a word for it. But it was something.


	6. Settling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning home, if it can be called such.

The house was dark when she returned, which both somehow surprised her and did not. It was perhaps an hour or so until dawn, any sane person should be firmly abed at this hour.

Not that she really counted her host in that category. Herself either, anymore. Not really.

She discovered that she needn't turn up the gas to move around without banging into things, at least. She hadn't noticed it while out on her errands due to the streetlamps and the lighting in the shops she'd visited, but in here it was very clear that her night vision had improved by leagues. She settled her umbrella in the stand by the door and made her way back to the study for lack of any other direction.

The fire was well-banked, the room faintly chill, and she saw that she had been anticipated somewhat: a note stood upon her host's desk, tented up so as to be easily seen from the door.

_Ms. Eglantine, thank you for seeing to the tasks I set you. Please leave the parcels on the desk, I shall attend to them in the morning. The upstairs room on the left is for you. Please be mindful of the shutters and curtains before retiring._

It was not signed, but she was coming to recognize her host's handwriting. Besides, who else would leave such a thing for her?

Partly out of courtesy, partly out of unease, she climbed the stairs as softly as she could, relieved to make it to the top without a traitorous squeak of carpentry... and there paused.

The room on the left was hers, the note had said. So that meant the room on the right...

She stood there for what must have been several minutes, looking at that door and thinking. It seemed a perfectly ordinary door, giving no hints as to the man that presumably slept behind it. It had the same plain brass latch as every other door in the house, the same dark-stained wood. No demonic light or eldritch fog leaked from beneath it, and she could hear nothing beyond the faint sounds of the city outside.

She reached towards the latch, hesitant, curious.

Pain blossomed in her fingertips as they touched the latch, and she snatched her hand back, stuffing her fingers into her mouth both to ease the pain and stifle a yelp. What on earth?

Examining her fingers revealed no clues. There was nary a mark on her skin, for all it had felt like she'd tried to lift a hot coal bare-handed. And now there was the most atrocious flavor lingering on her tongue. Bother.

Such are the wages of curiosity in this house, one supposed. Enough, it had been a beastly long night and she wanted to be shut of it.

Inside what was to be her room, she took a moment to poke about. There wasn't much here, looking to be the sort of room let out for a bit of spare coin. A bed with heavy curtains, a dresser that was empty upon investigation, and a nightstand with a nicely large though plain mirror.

...wait, what was that?

Leaning close to the mirror, she frowned, squinting. She wasn't mistaken: her reflection seemed smeared, somehow, or blurred as though she'd been painted with watercolors on damp paper. How very peculiar.

...what else had changed?

She took a moment to examine her face in the mirror, ignoring for the moment that bit of blur on the details. She still had the same mousy brown hair, the same dull green eyes, but she seemed thinner than she remembered, her cheekbones more prominent. Almost as though she hadn't been eating properly for a time.

Well, in a way she hadn't. No don't start giggling hysterically, you'll wake him and we'll leave that for another night thank you very much.

It was perhaps a certain morbid curiosity that had her disrobe and examine herself as best she could in that mirror further. She was right, she _was_ thinner, but not in the classic sense. Her fingers rested on her belly, and something about the shape of it struck her as faintly wrong. Too flat, as though the skin were simply pulled taut over an empty space instead of the organs one should properly have.

Unsettled, she terminated her investigations and climbed into bed, making sure to pull the curtains firmly shut and wishing vehemently for gentle dreams.


	7. Evening Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann discovers her host isn't the only one in the house, and finds a new friend.

Her dreams were dark, slow, and strange.

It was rather like she was floating deep, deep beneath the surface of some warm, oil-thick sea. She was conscious of movement, of shapes strange and titanic in the distance, of sounds that weren’t… quite… words…

She jerked awake with a gasp, feeling as though she were fighting the air past some enormous weight on her chest, and for a time simply lay in the darkness of her curtained bed panting. It felt strange, for some reason that she couldn’t entirely put her finger on. Something was off, but at such a basic level that she couldn’t pinpoint it, like a sound just outside her range of hearing. Not that anything had been normal for a while, really.

With that cheery thought spurring her on, she fumbled her way out of bed, feeling out of sorts even more than she usually did in the morning. Though one supposed this was evening. That was going to take a lot of getting used to. Trying to ignore the empty feeling in her belly and everything it entailed, she considered her options. She only had the one set of clothing for the moment, and as she was reminded by running her tongue over her teeth and trying not to shudder too hard, no toilet kit. Saints and sinners, her mouth tasted like something had made a nest and died in it.

Well no help for it really, she was going to have to venture out or spend the night sitting on her bed. And she could hear movement elsewhere in the house anyway.

A delightful surprise awaited her when she eased open the door, however. A small stack of parcels, unlabeled and mysterious in their plain paper wrappings, but which seemed a direct answer to her earlier musings upon opening. Several new outfits, though all in irritatingly dark colors (could it have hurt the man to pick something other than black or grey?) and a rather charming toilet kit that did much to soothe her fuss over the wardrobe, intricately detailed and gleaming in the darkness of her room. Almost certainly the results of some of her errands the previous night.

It wasn’t until she was nearly done cleaning her teeth that a thought struck her, and she paused. Leaning close to her mirror, she pulled back her lip. Well, there went one myth; no fangs greeted her inspection.

Then hunger intruded, and her body responded.

In stunned and faintly revolted fascination, she watched as not simply her canines but several of their neighboring teeth shifted in their seats, lengthening and turning somewhat as they did so. She could feel the shift within her skull, and for a moment was simply too stunned to react. Then the moment passed, the pang of hunger fading, and her teeth primly folded themselves back where they were supposed to be, as though nothing had happened.

She spent a brief while having quiet hysterics under her bedsheets.

Once she had collected herself and dressed, she ventured downstairs. The fourth step creaked distressingly when she set her weight on it, which puzzled her for a moment. Didn’t she reach her room without that happening last night? A test showed that the creak was no mere fluke, setting her weight on that step resulted in the same noise each time.

“Enjoying yourself, miss Eglantine?”

The quietly amused words snatched her attention to the foot of the stairs and she glowered at her host where he smiled up at her. “I was testing something,” she snapped down at him, lifting her chin and frowning as she resumed her interrupted descent. He might be far more knowledgeable than she in strange matters, but be damned if she was going to let him fluster her for his own amusement.

“Indeed? And what have you ascertained?” That question at least seemed genuine, a quirk of interest in his brows behind his spectacles, and she paused at the foot of the stairs to look back the way she had come. “Last night… er, this morning? When I came home, I went up to my room without that step making any sound, somehow. I had the thought the creak just now was a fluke, but…”

“Interesting. Indeed miss, that step is specifically designed as a warning system,” commented her host, turning back towards the library and wandering away, with a faintly distracted air. Left to herself again at the foot of the stair, she considered.

The kitchen, first. Definitely that, before she tried to eat some of the furniture.

_…or her host…_

Clenching her jaw and stamping firmly on that thought, she followed a scent without even trying to consider why. Just go with it, this morning… evening… whatever! It was already proving far too strange for her composure.

Luckily, her nose steered her true. The kitchen was spotless, though she wasn’t sure if that surprised her or not, given how precise her host had been in every other endeavor so far. But she blinked at the maid puttering about by the stove, not having realized there was anyone else even in the house.

“Well look who it is! A fine evening to you miss,” burbled the cook, her round face well-seamed with smile lines, to the point where her eyes practically disappeared when she grinned as she was doing now. Ann couldn’t help but smile back, a wad of tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying between her shoulders easing unconsciously. “You’ll be looking for breakfast, is it? Oh don’t you fuss, that young lout out front told me the whole works, you poor dear. ‘Ere, sit you a spell and I’ll chase something out for you.”

Without quite understanding how it had happened, Ann found herself bundled into a chair by a little table off to one side of the room, blinking. “Er, thank you, miss…?”

“Walthersome, miss. Beastly business you’ve gotten involved in, pardon my saying so, but we can’t all choose our roads in life now can we? Best we can do is make sure the wheels don’t fall off as we go. Here we go, wrap yourself around that and see how it treats you.” She hardly needed urging, the steaming small pie she was presented practically made her stomach lunge out of her belly and go to work all on its own, and all too soon she was licking juices from her fingers and feeling faintly embarrassed at how she’d wolfed the thing down. The cook, at least, seemed more entertained than horrified by the spectacle, grinning fit to split her face and wiping her hands on a rag. “Erm, thank you, miss Walthersome. I confess, all this is still rather strange to me.”

“Oh don’t you fuss none, my dear, I’d hardly expect you to hit the ground running after such a thing,” and now she sobered somewhat, frowning with pursed lips. “Truth be told, you’re doing worlds better than any other poor scrap I’ve seen get taken. Wearing clothes, talking, polite even! No doubt thanks to that bothersome lad in the library, though don’t you let on to him. Thinks he can steer the world already, he does.”

Well, that was… both distressing and comforting. At least she wasn’t a ravening beast trying to chase down pedestrians during the night?

“You ever get a case of the nibbles you come see me, dear, I’ll fix you right up. That darling mister Scharfen sent over what must be half the fixings in the eastern district, he must think you’re fit to starve!” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the butcher, and then rubbed thoughtfully at her belly. “If… if it’s no trouble mum, could I have another of those pies?”


	8. A Night on the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marbas has some business to attend to. It goes about as well as one can expect.

Later, she sat in the study once more, watching as her host paced slowly back and forth in front of the hearth, adjusting his evening jacket and gloves as he spoke. Mostly to her, but she had the distinct impression that Marbas was one of those men that thought better out loud.

“I will be meeting with a contact of mine tonight, but the man has proven problematic in recent dealings and I feel the need the need to remind him of certain things. You will be accompanying me in case I have need of your skills.”

Her skills? “I’m not sure what an undergraduate of veterinary sciences will be able to help you with, but I suppose,” she frowned at him, only to be answered by a quiet chuckle. “You would be surprised, miss Eglantine. But in this particular case, I was referring more to your new state of being. I have it on good authority that vampiric senses are sharper than human, and so you shall be a most valuable observer.”

Oh.

“Come, let us be on our way,” and he set his hat on his head and offered her his arm just like any gentleman might to any lady choosing to walk with him, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, only a little reluctantly. He _had_ been a great help to her as of late, but there were still many things about this man that put her off, and she took the opportunity of walking with him to actually study him a bit.

He walked confidently but without swagger, carrying a cane as was the fashion but without waving it about as many were wont to do. He simply walked, his bearing that of someone that calmly expected his path to be clear. _He may be human, but he’s also a predator,_ she thought to herself. And the evening crowd could detect it as well, though she suspected it was largely unconscious on their parts; people moved subtly out of their way, many even without looking their way.

A short while later, they were seated within a pub unremarkable in nearly every regard. There were at least ten such establishments along only this street, and she had no inkling as to why this one in particular was chosen. But here they were, and she fidgeted with her shawl as she glanced around, trying to pick out this ‘contact’ her host was meeting. Marbas himself sat calmly and patiently, having taken the chair which put his back to the wall. She wondered if he’d done that consciously.

_There, that one._

The man had only just started to turn in their direction, but she was sure of her deduction for some reason she couldn’t quite articulate to herself. Some hints within his posture and where he was looking perhaps, and she turned a questioning look to her host to be met with a slight nod. She was right.

“Mister Farnsworth,” was the preemptive greeting as the man drew close to their table, and Marbas gestured towards one of the remaining seats at the table, “please, do join us.”

“Kind of you, guvnor, but I’ll not be staying. I want no more of this business.” Farnsworth was not a particularly large man, but he had the thick forearms and heavy brow of one who knew his way around heavy labor. And a bit of the scent of a dockworker, now that she thought of it. And… friends.

She was aware of three other men standing… not exactly close to their table, but near enough. Something prickled up her back, and she glanced to Marbas, but he seemed as calmly unaware as anyone else in the room, his eyes resting on Farnsworth and his expression one of irritated resignation, as though the answer was not unexpected but still unsatisfactory. “Mister Farnsworth, I can assure you that there is nothing untoward with his ‘business’ as you put it. And I certainly have not been miserly with your compensation, now have I?”

“Coin’s no good when my soul’s in danger, warlock,” growled the man, and Ann’s head snapped around in surprise, but at the same moment she somehow heard the scuff of a bootsole, the tightening of tendon, that warned her that the three men she had seen before were moving closer, and she started to hiss a warning to her host--

“Miss Eglantine, if you would,” he interrupted her, calm as stone.


	9. Predator, Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann learns why vampires are feared in a way no story could prepare her for.

"Miss Eglantine, if you would."

"What am I sup-"

She saw light glint from the blade of a knife, and something deep in her mind howled.

She listened to it.

Without being truly conscious of moving her hands were suddenly buried in hot viscera and bone crunched between her teeth like a stale crust of bread. She heard a sound to her left, a breath drawn in to begin a shout, the whisper of sharp steel against leather, and the next man's face was in her hand.

Her chair hit the floor with a clatter.

She tightened her grip, twisted, and tore his head off with a wrench and a fountain of gore.

The third man had started to turn, eyes wide with panic, clearly intending to flee, mouth open to shout something.

His spine shattered like a sapling as her fist smashed into his back between his shoulder blades, and she howled triumph in a voice that wasn't... quite... hers...

She was aware some time had passed, but not what exactly had occurred during that time, when she heard again that calm, composed voice. "Miss Eglantine, please see to yourself, it is time we were leaving."

She snarled up at the man, but he was standing several paces off, as blandly unruffled as ever, not threatening her kill.

_Her..._

She realized then that she was crouched over the ruined body of one of the men she'd killed, his ribcage torn open and steaming faintly like a fresh roll, his blood still hot on her face. She staggered to her feet, suddenly shaking, and lifted her hands to her face only to stop with a jerk as she realized they were just as soaked with gore, if not moreso. _This shirt will never be the same_ , she giggled to herself somewhat hysterically, trying to reconcile what had just happened.

Something pale moved in the corner of her vision, and she glanced over before accepting the damp barkeep's rag Marbas was offering out to her. She didn't thank him for it, just buried her face in it for several long moments, shaking. God, what had she become?

"Come along, miss. Let the Constables do their work in peace." Damn him for being so calm. _What_ was this man? This _thing_ , wrapped in human form? He was colder than surgical steel. But she stepped away from the bodies, trying to clean the worst of the horror from her face and hands with the rag, trying to ignore the looks from the group of Constables that had arrived and cordoned off the street in front of the pub.

Marbas was off to one side, speaking with the Inspector, looking like nothing at all untoward had happened, "I will be in contact with the owner to see damages rectified Inspector, have no fear of that. You have my statement, yes? Good. Yes I shall see to the young lady, have no worries on that account."

She was vaguely aware of being assisted up into a carriage by one of the nearby Constables, and spent the ride ‘home’ staring glassily out the window, wishing fervently this was all somehow some sort of terrible dream, and refusing to acknowledge the presence of the man riding calmly across from her.

For the first time since she’d woken up strapped to that table, she wasn’t even a little hungry.


	10. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next night brings knowledge, though no comfort.

She dreamed.

_Again, the dark sea. Again, she floated._

_She wailed softly, sorrow and horror and confusion._

_Far, far away, a thunderous rumble replied._

Terror had her lunging up out of her bedsheets, clutching at her throat and forcing herself to breathe. Somehow, she knew that it was a conscious act, that she hadn’t been breathing until now.

A few moments to steady herself, and then memory intruded, and she fell back against the pillows. She’d killed three men. Not even normal killing, more like some demon out of a story.

She could only imagine the trouble she’d caused for the local Constables.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, just staring at the darkness of her bed’s canopy. She heard the city bells toll eleven.

Well, lying here wasn’t going to change anything.

A note was waiting for her on the nightstand, written in her host’s clean, exact handwriting, and she sneered petulantly at it for a moment before picking it up to read.

_Ms. Eglantine, I am full aware that the recent events have distressed you. Please be assured that I am dealing with the repercussions and that you need not fear official action against you. You are free to leave the house as you like, though I do ask that you inform me of your intended activities first._

It was unsigned, which didn’t surprise her. But at least someone seemed to know what was going on. Even if it was him.

She took her time in her room, turning up the gas to chase away the shadows. She brushed her hair, cleaned her nails, took exquisite care with every little step that normally she paid no real thought to. It was easier, to sink her attention into these little tasks instead of letting her thoughts dwell on… other things. But finally, every task was done, and she sat on the edge of her bed and thought.

She had been surprised, when it happened. Hadn’t expected that… explosion of violence, hadn’t been prepared for it. Hadn’t even known it was a possibility. She’d realized there were things she didn’t know about what had happened to her, but none so dramatic as that.

She needed to know, if only to prevent something horrible happening later.

She found him in the library, reading with a most intense expression, as though trying to physically tear meaning from the page and absorb it by force. She actually hesitated to disturb him, finding a seat nearby to wait; as much as he unnerved her, she had no cause to be rude. And the man last night had called him ‘warlock’…

“Miss Elgantine. I didn’t hear you come in,” his voice intruded abruptly, and she swallowed, trying to marshal thoughts which had suddenly flown in every direction like a flock of startled birds.

“You know a great deal about… about my condition,” she began, and was answered by a mild nod. “I need to know more, so I don’t…” Her fingers twitched as though trying to illustrate, trying to tug eloquence from the air, “So I’m ready if something happens again.”

“I see,” was the unruffled response, and she was certain she detected approval in his tone. “Well, we shall start with the basics, I suppose. You have undoubtedly discovered many of the physical changes already, even if you have not codified them yourself. Most notably, the vampire does not feed solely upon blood as folklore likes to suggest.” She’d wondered about that, given how energetically she’d wolfed down all manner of things up until now. “More accurately, while blood is a significant part of a vampire’s diet, they prefer to feed on blood-related organs: the liver, the kidneys, the lungs, the heart.” She swallowed, feeling mildly queasy, but again not very surprised. There was just something about the matter-of-fact way he stated such things, his expression as calm as any professor giving a lecture.

“It is this feeding that causes the transmission of the vampiric condition. Simply draining blood from a victim will not suffice, and many vampires that exist closely with humans tend to utilize this so as not to damage their ‘herd,’ as it were.” Here she startled, one hand flying to her throat, “Marbas, that man I killed…!”

“Do not worry, my dear, steps were taken to prevent him from succumbing to vampirism. Though yes, you are correct in thinking that had we not done so, you would have an erstwhile progeny at the moment.”

She was very glad that her body no longer possessed the ability to be violently sick at that moment.

Perhaps noting her distress, or merely marshaling his thoughts, her host got to his feet and paced to a set of shelves to replace his book in silence before resuming his lecture. “While it is fully possible for vampires to eat and drink anything they wish, most substances provide them with very little nourishment. It is currently unknown what happens to such, the processes of vampire digestion being a mystery still. I theorize they are broken down and used to reinforce and repair structural elements; bones, ligaments, and the like. At any rate, while cooking does not ruin a vampire’s meal, it has been noted on most occasions that they prefer their food as fresh as possible. You have noticed this, perhaps?”

As much as this line of discussion was turning her stomach, she was forced to nod, “Mister Scharfen gave me a reasonably fresh liver, and your cook plied me with kidney pie that was frankly delicious. But the thought of tea makes my throat close up as though I were presented with sewage.” She would not dwell on the fact that she wasn’t even peckish tonight, and how ‘fresh’ her latest meal had been.

“Excellent. Please, do continue to make note of your body’s behavior and responses, I am compiling notes towards a treatise.” He actually seemed cheerful, honestly happy, for the first time she’d ever seen, and she suffered a mild mental wrench at the strangeness of it. What must his mind be like, to quite cheerfully tell someone that they were the premier specimen in his latest study?

Instead of dwelling on that, she ventured a question, “That first night, here in the library, you did something to me when I almost attacked you.” The memory of that blinding pain still tingled on her nerves when she thought about it. “What was that?”

“Ah, indeed. Simply, there is a substance that the layman refers to as ‘holy water’ which reacts violently with the vampiric nervous system,” and he pulled a small, metal vial from a pouch apparently made for that very purpose on his belt, displaying it to her. “You were sufficiently weakened and disoriented that the shock of it rendered you briefly unconscious, nothing more. And no, there is nothing actually religious in nature about the substance, it is a simple though obscure mixture, the primary ingredient of which involves minerals leached from a form of marble often used in church construction.”

That would explain the reaction she’d had to touching the latch on his door, too. He must have treated it, in case… well, in case she got nosy, which she had. She just wouldn’t mention that part, she thought.

“Is the…” and she struggled for words briefly, “When we were in the pub, I felt something. A rage, an animal fury, and I was moving much faster than I ever could before. I could… I could _hear_ what they intended to do, where they were starting to move.”

“Interesting. It has been observed that vampires have notably faster action and reaction speeds, yes, and many scholars on the subject compare it to the ‘combat high’ humans experience in tense situations. Your amplified senses certainly tie into it; most likely you ‘hearing’ their intent was merely your mind processing unconscious cues into something you could easily understand.”

That made a certain amount of sense, at least.

“I would suggest you study yourself and your capabilities, miss Eglantine, if only for your own education if not for mine. Though I do dearly hope you will share your findings with me.”

“I will keep you appraised, of course.” Satisfied, Marbas nodded and turned to choose another book from his shelf.

She had much to think on.


	11. A Dingy Sort of Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann decides to assure herself that everything's in order down at the local station.

“Excuse me Sergeant, is Inspector Raeburn available?”

“Blimey! …er, sorry ma’am, you startled me. I’ll see if he’s in, if you’ll wait here?”

She hadn’t meant to sneak up on the man, but apparently that just happened these days unless she was paying attention to it. Suppressing a grin, she simply nodded and found a seat in the station’s waiting area. She’d been here a time or two before, though never for anything remotely important. Once as a child when she’d wandered away from her parents and gotten lost, later as a student with a perhaps unhealthy teenage infatuation with the police horses. She liked this station, it had good memories for her.

The man whose office she was shortly shown into also sat in a comfortable place in her heart. Inspector Raeburn had been only a Constable when he’d found her lost in the street as a child, and he was rather the measuring stick she held up to people to judge their character in many ways. One of those grumbly sorts of men that utterly refused to accept compliments because, as he saw it, he was simply doing what any decent sort would.

“Miss Eglantine, I do hope you aren’t bringing more trouble to my desk tonight.”

He also wasn’t the sort to linger on pleasantries, which she could appreciate in a way. Especially for a man in his position.

“Inspector, I sincerely hope not. Actually, I wanted to apologize for my rather disgraceful behavior the other night.” She folded her hands in her lap as she sat before his desk, not having to fake the pained pinch in her expression when she considered the actual reason she was here. So much for happy memories. “I’ve been told the matter is being dealt with, but I could not in good conscience simply leave it be, as though nothing worse than a spilled bin were at issue. Please, is there anything I can do to assist?”

The Inspector seemed somewhat taken aback, frowning and scratching at one of his sideburns in what she knew was a nervous habit of his. “A ghastly business, miss, I won’t lie. Pardon my plain speech,” and she grimaced in anticipation, “but for lack of a better term, your three victims at least won’t be missed overmuch. All were suspected part of a protection racket in the docks district. Now, that said, we can’t go having you tearing into criminals either.” He hardly needed scowl at her so, but she took his point true to heart regardless.

“…However, it may do us some good to get your statement on the event. Apart from your ‘host,’” and she could nearly taste the irony on that word, “we didn’t get much of anything useful from anyone else that was on site at the time.”

“Certainly, Inspector, though I won’t be able to tell you much I’m afraid; the whole thing was rather abrupt.” She shifted a bit in her seat, getting more comfortable, and considered her words a moment. “Marbas told me that he had some business to attend to, and that he wanted me to come along as something of an observer. When we got to the pub, we were met by a man that he referred to as a ‘mister Farnsworth.’ Apparently they had been engaged in some sort of business, which Farnsworth wanted out of.”

Here she frowned, sifting words around behind her teeth for a moment, then decided that if she could trust anyone it was Raeburn. “Farnsworth suggested that this business was of an unsavory sort and called Marbas a warlock.”

Surprising her a little, the Inspector’s reaction was simply to sigh and rub at his face as though forcing back a headache, “Hardly surprising, with that one. Oh, don’t fuss miss,” and he waved a negligent hand her way, “the Special Division is well aware of your host’s activities, and as much as he irks me I can confidently say that he isn’t any sort of black magician or demon summoner like out of the stories. If anything, I’d expect him to call an imp purely to nail it to a dissection table, begging your pardon.”

Though the mental image was rather gruesome, she also couldn’t argue, given what she knew of the man.

“That said,” the Inspector continued more directly, “this Farnsworth you mentioned was not among those questioned. I’ll have to see if I can have him brought in. Please, give a description as best you can to the Sergeant on your way out.”

“Of course, Inspector.”

“And miss Eglantine,” and here he hesitated, wearing an expression rather like he was trying to decide he if should pick up a hornet’s nest or leave it sitting on the front stoop, and her fingers knotted together in her lap. “Your family has been fully appraised of your situation,” and she was suddenly aware of the fact that she couldn’t faint anymore, “and while they are somewhat distraught as is only to be expected, they also wished me to convey that they will not be casting you out or any similar such nonsense.”

She really couldn’t faint, how fascinating.

“Papa always was the practical sort,” she managed with a dizzy, thin laugh, and pressed a hand to her chest more out of habit than anything. Especially since doing so reminded her that she lacked a pulse now. Eugh.

“Uhm. Please let my family know that I am very grateful to hear from them, Inspector. I’m settling about as well as can be expected,” and the pair of them shared a grimace that would have been funny if she were observing from the outside. “It is taking a lot of getting used to, and I won’t lie and say that it’s been easy. Even leaving out that business at the pub.”

The Inspector nodded, suddenly looking incredibly tired, and without even thinking she stood up to put a hand on where his rested on his desk, making him look up at her in surprise. Had she moved too quickly again? Damn this.

“Please do not worry yourself overmuch about me, Inspector,” she tried to assure him with a smile. “As strange as all this is, I know I have people around me to help if things get too distressing.”

“Aye miss. Aye,” and he drew in a breath as though trying to filter conviction from the air before hauling himself to his feet to see her out. “Please, do keep us appraised if anything comes to your attention. A pleasant evening to you.”


	12. Omens and Portents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream (or is it?) that suggests that more may be in store for Ann than she is really ready for.

It was the same dream again, that dark sea that she floated far beneath.

Was she actually dreaming? It had the same feel that she had come to associate with her dreams before, but she seemed rather more aware than she was used to.

She tried to move and felt the substance that buoyed her ripple in response. It wasn't water, it was far too thick, it resisted her gently, warm and heavy against her body, a gentle embrace that would have her dozing were the situation not so very odd.

Her body felt strange. Like it was shaped differently, but she couldn't tell how.

She could not see, there was no light.

She whimpered softly, some half-understood instinct tugging the sound from her without conscious thought, and she heard it echo away into the darkness.

Something else moved, deep in the depths. She could feel the sea shift against her, a warm pressure that came and went.

A sound, soft and far away, like some ancient house creaking in the wind. Then something else, a moan that was so deep it made her bones shudder.

It knew she was here.

Perhaps if she curled up very small, and was very quiet, it wouldn't find here in this dark sea that suddenly was not nearly as restful as it was a few moments before...

If this was a dream, she was ready to wake up...


	13. Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann tries to get a handle on all the strangeness that's been going on.

“…and that’s been going on every night since I woke up here.”

Missus Walthersome made a thoughtfully sympathetic noise as she stirred her tea, and not for the first time Ann cursed her new ‘diet’ for keeping such things from her. She really could go for a soothing cup right now, and while part of her knew she had an alternative available, the rest of her was inclined to scream and lock that first part in the closet.

The pair of them were sitting in the kitchen, it feeling somewhat safer than anywhere else in this house for whatever reason. Perhaps it was the comforting presence of the cook, or the clean normality in what had become such a strange and bizarre world so suddenly. Maybe it was simply because she’d never seen Marbas come here.

“Well it seems to me, dearie,” opined said cook, her spoon clinking lightly against her teacup, “that you’ve most certainly got _something_ going on. Now, as to what I’ve no notion, but three days running? And as similar as all that? Not just some dream, I would say, no indeed.” A shake of her head and a tsk placed that notion firmly in the wastebin, which Ann found… not exactly comforting, but reassuring in its own way. At least if she was going mad someone else agreed with her.

“That interfering boy in the library might know more,” and both of them shared a not-quite-grimace at the idea, “but I rather doubt he’d have much to offer in the way of helping. He does good things, plenty of that aye, but the lad’s got no sense for people at all. No, you’ll be wanting… hm…” A thoughtful sip of tea, brown eyes gone distant among their nest of wrinkles, then miss Walthersome’s brows quirked as an idea struck her, “Are you religious, dear? Might not do you poor to toddle down to the church, bend a priest’s ear a bit? Oh don’t give any of that faddle about holy ground a fuss,” and she waved a hand blithely at Ann’s sudden consternation, “you’re hardly some sin-soaked creature of darkness, no indeed. Just a bit scuffed ‘round the edges, and if the Father can’t see that where’s the hope in any of it, hm? If He turned folks out just because they took a tumble, where would anyone be? No, you go take a sit in that nice little place down on Peacock Street, corner of Seventh, and settle some. Oh and do say hello to that nice mister Karner for me if he’s in tonight, it’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to chat.”

And so it was that Ann found herself standing in front of a rather charming little chapel that had clearly been there for longer than a goodly portion of the surrounding city, from a time when the Old Walls were still manned. A commoner’s church, not the grand cathedral deep in Old Town that seemed to do its best to make anyone stepping through its doors feel small and guilty. This one’s doors were of a human size, its walls plain, its steeple unimposing and the sun-in-glory at its peak simple brass instead of ornately ornamented gold. She would have loved this place before. Now… she was nervous, despite the cook’s reassurances.

Well, no help for it, her only other option was to slink back ‘home’ and hope nothing else decided to make her life interesting.

Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she stepped forward and placed her hand on the door.

…after waiting a mildly embarrassing time for something horrible to happen, she pushed it open and stepped inside.

Immediately she was enfolded in the smell of warm furniture wax and old incense, the sounds of the city muffled behind stone and silence and time, and she almost slumped as tension left her spine for what felt the first time in days. Nights. Whatever. She didn’t see anyone else in the main room, just rows of empty pews in front of the altar, and honestly that suited her just fine for the moment.

She’d never been what could be called even moderately devout, but she’d gone to holy day services ever since she could remember, and had always felt just as welcome at temple as she had been at home, even in the Old Town cathedral. Nervous of bumping into things or speaking too loudly of course, but welcome. And now… she had a little more cause to ponder the existence of things beyond normal reality than she had before.

Standing in front of the altar, she regarded the sun-in-glory stitched on a tapestry behind it. No gleaming sculpture here, just plain cloth that looked like it had seen much loving care and gentle washing over the years. She didn’t feel scourged, or likely to burst into flames or any of the horrible things promised in fable that should happen if a “beast of the hungry night” should enter such a place, and she honestly wasn’t entirely certain if that comforted her or made her wonder just why such things were touted as reliable. Maybe it was as miss Walthersome said, and she simply hadn’t done anything worthy of such punishment. It was hardly her fault she’d been attacked, after all.

“Oh, good evening miss. Rather late, isn’t it?”

She turned and found herself smiling at the little round priest that had come out into the main room. He fit well with the chapel, clearly moving on in years but in a way that smoothed away corners instead of leaving him decrepit. “Good evening, sir. I’m afraid my schedule’s been rather rudely adjusted as of late,” and the wrinkles around the priest’s eyes deepened with his sympathetic smile.

"The world waits for none of us, I'm afraid. What brings you to us tonight, miss?" He turned to gesture broadly back over the pews, his voice full of gentle self-directed humor, "I'm afraid we don't really hold service at this hour, though I suppose I could compose you a sermon if you really wished." She couldn't help but grin, he reminded her rather of an uncle she only got to see rarely, but who always had a quip or a trick to make her laugh as a child.

But then she sobered, her smile fading as she considered exactly what had brought her here. "It's... complicated, sir. I've had some rather rough adjustments to my life, recently," and she had a moment where she wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't break down in hysterical giggles at how simple that made everything sound. The priest's expression swept from lazy good humor into sympathetic concern, and he lifted a hand to pat himself on the chest lightly.

"Well do I know how the road of life can grow rocky without warning, miss. Should I leave you be? Or do you wish counsel?"

What _did_ she want?

"...sir, I..." and she struggled to get her thoughts straightened out while the priest showed incredible patience with her stuttering attempts. "Something happened to me, recently, and it's caused incredible complications to... well everything. I've had to change nearly everything in just a few nights." Once she started, the words just started tumbling free, though she somehow managed to censor some of the details. "I've people helping, as they can, but it's just... it feels rather like I'm running ahead of an avalanche and trying to pick up pennies as I go. I'm afraid all the time, afraid something will happen, afraid I'll do something terrible, and- and-"

Her voice failed, and she folded into the waiting embrace of the priest, clutching at his tunic and sobbing brokenly into his shoulder, and for a time she just let the rest of the world go away.

She was safe here, encircled by warmth, and she was so tired...


	14. The Game’s Afoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann suddenly has much less time to consider her own problems

The nights had fallen in to a kind of routine. She would rise, tend to herself, and check to see if Marbas needed her for anything. If he didn’t, she largely had the night to herself, for what it was worth. She was not entirely ready to attempt contacting her family just yet, not with how unsteady her own responses to her new condition still were, and she most certainly didn’t want to encounter any of her old friends. What did you even say to something like that? “Sorry I missed you at class, I was turned into a vampire”?

At least her dreams had become less directly troubling. It was still always that same dark sea, but quiet for the most part. She really should ask Marbas about that at some point…

However, when she poked her head into the study after her breakfast, she found it in a most unfamiliar state of disarray. A half-dozen books lay draped over multiple surfaces, open to various passages, and her host himself was standing in front of the hearth with a parchment in his hands, peering at it rather like a raven confronted with something new and shiny.

She cleared her throat, and the look he turned her way did little to reassure her: a downright manic grin that showed far too many teeth, his eyes glittering with life for perhaps the first time she’d ever seen.

“Miss Eglantine, excellent. We’ve been given a case!”

_We?_

“While normally something like this would be firmly within the purview of the Special Division,” he burbled away as he headed towards his desk, “not only do they have other matters demanding their attention, but there are some interesting quirks to the situation which have caught my interest rather firmly.” Father’s Light but when this man got going he seemed likely to just catch fire at a moment’s notice. “We’re away to Kent’s Crossing, so pack what you’ll need for a week or so.”

“Wait, wait, me too? And Kent’s Crossing’s the other side of the Lady’s Wood, getting there in a week is out of the question!”

“Oh not to worry, we won’t be going around.”

He just tossed that out like mentioning she wouldn’t need a hat. “You _are_ insane! Nobody goes _into_ the Wood!”

This time his grin as he looked up from his files was positively wolfish, “Not since the Wood marched on the city, indeed.”

And so she found herself riding atop a carriage later that night, along a long-neglected road towards a great, dark blot of forest on the horizon, convinced that she would not see the other side of it. How on earth did she manage to get herself into these things?

* * *

_It’s really not so bad, if you ignore the creeping dread._

Beside her on the carriage’s seat, Marbas seemed not to have a care in the world, reading something from a little notebook that he sometimes made small additions to with a pencil as they traveled. The horses, at least, seemed to share Ann’s unease with the place, their ears flicking at every little sound, with a tendency to shy at sudden movements. Luckily she at least knew how to handle the reins, and the traces were sturdy enough to deal with these relatively minor jitters.

_Saints help me if these beasts decide to bolt._

She tried to determine just what it was about this place that unnerved her so. Everyone knew the stories, of course, so that might be part of it, because at first brush the forest wasn’t really anything notable. Oh it was thick and dark, the branches overhead so close that even during the day the road would probably be heavily shadowed, and at this time of night only their lanterns let them navigate even at a walk. It wasn’t particularly quiet or noisy for a forest at nighttime, either. She’d heard an owl or two, spotted motion in the underbrush, and the like.

In the end, she had to put it down to some poorly-defined feeling of being watched. That “prickle between the shoulder blades” that novels did so like to go on about. Really, if it weren’t for the horses sharing her nervousness she’d wonder if she were imaging things.

Then again, they could just be nervous horses in a strange forest in the middle of the night.

But that’s when she saw the deer.

Just standing at the side of the road as though waiting for them, a doe as black as night and as tall at the shoulder as a grown man, whose eyes glowed with the cold glimmer of starlight. She wasn’t sure if she should stare in wonder or screech in surprise, because she was very certain that improbable creature had not been standing there a moment before. The horses seemed to take no notice of it at all, just continuing on as nervously as before.

As the carriage drew alongside, Marbas lifted his hand without looking, and the doe nuzzled briefly into his palm before turning to begin pacing alongside the carriage.

She realized she’d stopped breathing. At least these days she didn’t really need to, but still…

A few tense minutes of this, and she finally managed the courage to kick Marbas’ ankle and hiss a wordless question, with many quick glances towards the doe and back to him. _Explain please?!_

He just laughed at her, the bastard.

“I suppose my manners were left behind in my distraction,” he chuckled, tucking his notebook into a pocket of his jacket. “Miss Eglantine, may I present to you the Lady of the Wood.” She felt rather like she was about to fall right off the carriage, doubly so when the doe turned those glowing eyes to her. There were entire books filled with stories about this creature, most involving brave young fools making promises they couldn’t keep and suffering for it. And then there was the Wood War, when…

When a man of the city infuriated the Lady, and only stopped her wrath by swearing an oath to her.

_What in every hell have I gotten myself into?_

“What did you…?” she started to hiss at her host, but couldn’t quite figure out where to go from there. What did he do? What did he drag her into? How did he plan to get them out of this?

“Your young companion seems rather distraught, _Iarainn Chridhe_ ,” murmured the doe in a voice like sun-warmed oak, deep and heavy and ancient.

And now they were both laughing at her, could this night get any better?

* * *

She was startled when the trees started thinning away, revealing stars not simply above them, but in front as well. A clearing?

No, they were on the far side, having somehow passed through a forest bigger than some nations in less than a night.

There hadn’t been much conversation during the trip, herself too terrified to speak up and her ‘companions’ only exchanging distracted murmurs from time to time, rather like a pair of old friends wandering along with their own thoughts. But when she finally tore her eyes away from the sight of open sky before them, the Lady was simply gone as though she’d never been, and Marbas’ nose was still in his notebook.

“What was _that?_ ” she said a tad shriller than she intended, making the horses startle and take off at a brisk canter. Well that was fine she supposed, they were back out in the open again…

And Marbas was snickering at her again, “Oh my dear, the look on your face is simply priceless. No no, don’t scowl so, I do apologize.” She decided that she’d rather continue scowling, he certainly deserved it.

“To sum up, most of the stories you’ve heard about the Lady’s Wood are true, or near enough. And once when I was young and foolish,” not that he looked a day past his mid-thirties, “I went to a place I probably shouldn’t have and said some things I _certainly_ shouldn’t have. So yes, I caused the Wood War, no use prevaricating around the bush on that one. And to stop it, I swore to the Lady that she would never need suffer me beneath her branches for longer than it took the sun to reach the horizon.” And here that sharp-edged grin of his winked back to life, “Oaths among the Gentry are interesting things. The world itself sees them enforced, in its own way. She was rather perturbed when she discovered I could use the terms of this oath to traverse her Wood quickly and simply.”

“She certainly didn’t seem ‘perturbed’ tonight.”

“Oh, we’ve come to something of an understanding these days, and she has an appreciation for my sense of humor for some reason. But the oath stands, even if she honors it without grudge now. There was a time when she used it to spit me out in all manner of places along her borders, which while educational was dratted inconvenient at times.”

He _was_ insane.


	15. Big Problems in Small Towns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann finds out the reason she's been dragged along on this recent excursion, and makes a few discoveries of her own as well.

They had decided (or rather Marbas had informed her) that they should try to approach the town sometime during the morning to allay what suspicions they could. As such, she regarded with a dubious eye her "travelling bed" as it were. Where he'd gotten the thing she had no notion. Wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know, either.

At least it didn't look like a coffin, just a plain box with a (thankfully) padded interior. Well, might as well get on with it. Even with the curtains of the carriage pulled closed, she wasn't sure she wanted to risk the dawn. At least she wasn't claustrophobic.

Much.

She wasn't sure she'd be able to sleep like this, packed in tight by the padding and her own clothing, unable to move more than fidgeting her fingers or reaching up to scratch her nose. At least she could do that.

Then the dawn came, and consciousness left her like leaves caught in the wind.

When she managed to struggle her way back out of the dark sea and its odd songs, she found out first-hand why the inside of the lid had been padded as well as she tried to sit up without thinking. A brief period of rubbing her face and a few unladylike words, and she fumbled for the latch on the inside of the box. If that smirking bastard was there when she got out of this thing...

Thankfully, the room he'd secured for them was empty when she emerged, and she was able to tend to her grooming and her equally mussed pride without interruption. Though she fretted over her meal a bit; Miss Walthersome had packed her a few things, but there was no way for them to bring a week's worth of her rather specialized provisions without provoking suspicion. Especially since such things didn't tend to keep very well. The thought of having to go 'hunting' made her feel a bit queasy, even if it also drew an eager tingle into her fingertips.

Thankfully, her musings were interrupted by her erstwhile host returning to the room, looking rather like he'd been stomping about the local countryside for most of the afternoon. Not nearly as clean-groomed as he was around his home, that was for sure, with pasture-mud on his boots and a mild goggles-print on his face. She actually rather preferred him this way, it made him seem more human than his usual mien.

"Ah good, you're awake. I've something I want you to check on, when you're ready. We'll be heading to one of the outlying farms, so dress accordingly." And just as quickly, he was gone again, leaving her blinking with her mouth partway open to ask a question. Well!

As she dressed, she considered the change in demeanor. In the city, he reminded her of nothing so much as a smug tomcat, regarding the world through narrowed eyes as though just waiting for the right moment to push a vase off the mantle. But out here, with a case in his teeth... it was rather like he was running down a slightly too steep slope, his grin not so much good humor as... forward momentum.

He wasn't immediately in evidence when she made it down to the common room, but that didn't last long. All too soon he blew back into the room, collected her (she spotted the harried-looking tavern keeper collapsing into a seat in passing), and soon enough they were ahorse and heading west. He had a tendency to trot ahead and circle back, but be damned if she was going to let him drag her in his wake any more than she could help. If he wanted her along he could bloody well wait. Her steed seemed sweet enough, at least, and she made sure to give the chestnut gelding a good patting as he puttered along beneath her. He may have been more used to plows than saddles, but he was a good horse.

During the course of the journey Marbas seemed to settle somewhat, reined in by her stubborn refusal to be hurried. He didn't seem perturbed by this, oddly enough; rather it was more like he hadn't realized just how pell-mell he'd been hurtling along, and now that he was moving more slowly he was able to do other things. Like talk to her with more than sharply bitten-off statements and commands, even if he did have a tendency to chatter at high speed still. "There's been a series of murders," was how he broached the subject of their case, true to form. "Only three, not enough to qualify as a rash, but more than you'd expect out this way by a long shot. The first was last month, the second two weeks ago, and apparently we had the great fortune to arrive only two days after the most recent one."

Good fortune, he called it. Honestly.

"We are further in luck that the farmer that discovered the body has kept it as intact and undisturbed as he could manage. Apparently the man has a brother that went on to become a Constable and so knows something of the method in which crimes are investigated, blessings be heaped upon his head." If he didn't pause to breathe in she was starting to worry he'd tip off his horse. "The reason we are here and not a more normal Inspector is the peculiarities of the murder method. Namely, the wounds are not in keeping with weaponry, but have been reported more in line with the sorts of marks left by a large predator of some kind. You can understand how the townsfolk were rather upset by this, given that the first victim lived rather near the town center and was not known for wandering the outskirts."

Troubling indeed.

Apparently there was no need to trouble the farmer in question, as Marbas led her straight out into the fields to a... well, "enclosure" was a bit too strong a term for it. Stakes had been driven into the ground and a sack-cloth tarp had been stretched over them to keep off the weather. She could smell the rot well before they reached it, and had a cloth securely over her nose as Marbas hefted the tarp away. Flies fled the corpse, and the stench was nearly overpowering, and for once she was glad that breathing was not something she was required to do anymore. Still, for all decay was well and firmly on its way, the body wasn't all that horrible yet. She spotted the wounds easily enough: the man's head was nearly severed, and his left arm was missing entirely, a horrific bite (from the look of it) having removed that shoulder and partially breached the ribcage. But the main viscera appeared to have not been violated, so that kept some of the horribleness in check.

She just thanked every Saint that she had long since lost her tender stomach over the dissection table thanks to school.

Marbas was continuing to prattle on something or other about the man's family and how he'd been discovered or somesuch, but she was only half listening. There was something in the scent that troubled her, more than just the expected stink of rotting meat and organ. Taking one last big, untainted breath, she held it as she knelt to examine the wounds more closely. Yes, those were definitely teethmarks, and she could see other lacerations on the body that looked like they were from claws. What was it...?

Without thinking, she dabbed a finger to the open flesh of one wound, and touched it to her tongue. Instantly she spat the taste away, her lips and tongue pulling back. And it wasn't because she was disgusted at what she'd done.

"Marbas, this man was poisoned."


	16. Care and Precision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann undertakes a bit of investigation of her own.

“…and how long have you been awake, anyway? It’s practically the third bell, I’m surprised you aren’t falling over.”

“My dear, in the interests of the investigation-“

“Oh piffle, I can run a specimen analysis as well as the next undergrad. I may not know what the results mean but that doesn’t stop me from noting them down. To bed with you!”

She’d seen this often enough in her fellow students at Neritic University, and knew that Marbas was one of those who would simply keep going until he physically collapsed. While that may have served him well enough in the past, she regarded it as wasteful and silly, especially while she was here to take up the slack.

The man himself was regarding her with a rather odd expression, somewhat like what one would turn on a teakettle when it abruptly started lecturing on proper behavior. Another moment like that, her frowning with arms crossed, him blinking blankly, then his lips twitched to the side with a soft laugh.

“As you say, Miss Eglantine. Do be precise with your findings, please.”

Honestly, some people.

Rather later, she was frowning absently at a set of beakers, swabs, cloth strips, and similar such oddments when she became aware that the tavern (which she was out back of) had started to show signs of life. It was still a good couple hours until dawn, but when one catered to farmers one needed to keep farmers hours, she supposed. She’d set up Marbas’ portable lab in what seemed to have been originally intended as a carriage yard, but which showed signs of largely having been used for children’s sports and general hooliganism over the years instead. Better to not have potentially poisonous fumes inside and all that.

Indeed, it wasn’t long before the tavernkeep stuck his head out of the kitchen’s back door, spotted her, and wandered over with the somewhat nervous gait of a man unsure if there is a localized risk of randomly catching fire. She decided that the current reduction could bubble along on its own for a while and straightened up, tugging her mask down and offering the man a reassuring smile.

“Up early, miss?”

“Late, rather. My colleague and I,” how odd it felt to say that, “tend to keep off hours, it helps keep the work moving if you take my meaning.”

“I suppose. Bit barmy that one, ain’t he?”

“Oh aye,” she responded without thinking, then coughed and rubbed the back of her neck in embarrassment as the tavernkeep stifled a snort. “Er, yessir. He’s one of those with grand ideas and remarkable plans but little room left in his head for things like ‘sleeping’ or ‘packing enough shirts.’”

“Know the sort, aye. ‘E’s been all over pestering folk, though suppose it’s for a good cause. Ghastly, these killings,” and they shared a grimace, his disturbed and hers sympathetic. “You’ve found something, though?”

“Of a sort, sir,” and she gestured towards the scientific apparatus arrayed on the table before her. “Before now, the theory seemed to be that some sort of beastly creature was responsible for the killings, due to wounds on the bodies.” He nodded, frowning a bit as though puzzled by her phrasing. “Upon examining the most recently deceased however, we noticed some subtle signs of poisoning.”

“Poison! Blast me, that’s no good ‘t’all!” A glance or two between her and the still-bubbling beaker nearby, and he assayed a ‘subtle’ sidle to windward, “So, what’s this then?”

“A few simple tests to try and determine just which substance was used, sir. Some poisons are obvious, but far more often the only visible symptom is death, and thus we must attempt to not only extract the substance in question, but to determine just what it is,” and she gestured vaguely with her notebook. “Think of how you consider an unfamiliar stew, only we don’t have the luxury of just taking a mouthful,” and she grinned at the revolted expression that was only response her gallows humor deserved.

“As you say, miss. Still, t’think we’ve a poisoner about, gets my stomach nervous if you take my meaning. Horrible sort, that.” A somewhat theatrical shudder, and the man turned back to his business, “Well, just let me know if you need aught, miss. An’ see if’n you can keep that chap from running a trench down the road, aye?”

“I shall do my best, sir.”


	17. Summation of Parts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

The next night, the pair of them conferred over a meal. Her “breakfast” was rather leaner than she had gotten used to, but she could hardly be picky in these circumstances. And the tavern’s cook had taken her request for heart as a chance to drag out “his old mum’s stew recipe,” which while flavorful enough nearly made her jaw ache with how tough the meat ended up.

“…and in reviewing your notes, I must agree that your suggestion of aconite seems to hold true, Miss Eglantine, most astute of you. Though this implies that either there is a large supply of the plant nearby, or we have a rather practiced poisoner on our hands.” Monkshood was one of the poisonous plants she knew decently well from her studies, given the tendency of using it to hunt dangerous animals.

The fact that it was also known as wolfsbane, and the marks on the bodies, was giving her a most unpleasant suspicion however.

“The three victims, as best I have been able to uncover, all knew each other. In fact, they were friends at school when they were younger. I’ve questioned some of their fellows, and none can think of any reason they would be targeted, which only serves to cement the idea among the locals that the deaths are the result of a beast attack. I have not brought up the matter of poison; if we do have a poisoner at large I’d rather not alert them we’ve stumbled onto their tricks.”

Not to mention giving rise to all manner of panic and paranoia among the townsfolk. The tavernkeeper had promised her not to spread it around for those very reasons, agreeing that the fewer that knew, the better.

“Marbas, there’s something very peculiar about all this,” she mumbled around a chunk of gristle, frowning at the sketched map of the town before them. “Those marks on the man we examined were not manufactured, that I could determine. They were truly the result of some creature taking a bite out of him. And if our poisoner has a pet bear he’s feeding people to, why poison them at all?”

“Indeed. I have a few theories, but they are all based on a lack of information at the moment.”

“Marbas… I have a thought.” He gestured with his mug of tea for her to continue, and she fidgeted with her fork a moment, tapping the tines against the bottom of her bowl. “Well first, one must accept that werewolves exist.”

He sat up like she’d stabbed him in the leg, stared at her a moment, then was away up the stairs at a gallop, leaving the entire common room blinking after him and his mug fallen on the floor.

_Well._

She had the time to return her cutlery to the kitchen before she heard him thundering back down the stairs, and met him at the front door as he shrugged into his overcoat. He had the most thunderous scowl on his face, not simply thinking hard but _angry_ , though she could not determine the target of his anger just yet. He steered them not towards the stable they had been making use of, but into town, and along the way she managed to jostle a few details past his clenched teeth.

“Curse me for a blind fool! There hasn’t been a _wer_ in this part of the country for longer than I’ve been alive and I didn’t even consider it. We’re to the scene of the first killing, I need to check something.”

The scene had long since been cleaned up, though the house in which it had occurred had largely been left to its own devices since. Ill luck after all, to try moving into the site of a murder too quickly. She sniffed as the pair of them passed within, then frowned. There was certainly something odd in the air, so faint that she was certain only her enhanced senses were allowing her to detect it, “Marbas, wait.”

He seemed about ready to snap at her, but something in her expression must have caught his attention, and he visibly reined himself in, “Very well, Miss Eglantine. Lead on.”

She wasn’t sure ‘lead’ was the best word, but in for a penny…

She saw marks in the walls here and there as she sought after the source of that odd scent, apparently at random; they could be the marks of a knife, or they could be clawmarks, it was difficult to tell. They weren’t in handily parallel groupings to narrow it down one way or the other, after all. She finally paused by one and nearly pressed her nose to it, breathing deeply. “…knife oil. Add an armed maniac to the equation, sir.”

Marbas growled something as rude as it was incoherent.

They finally found themselves at the place the body had been found, coincidentally enough. She prowled the room, considering what she could perceive. There was a smell of blood, there were marks on the walls like she’d been tracking elsewhere in the house, a splash of spilled wine and glass shards, and… hm. “Was the victim married, Marbas?” Receiving a negative, she rubbed her hands over her face with a groan. “This is shaping up into something straight out of one of those reprehensible novellas. Someone was engaged in, shall we say delicate acts before all the ruckus started.”

“Lovely. So, from what you have described, we have a knife-wielding maniac, a potentially adulterous couple caught in the act, and a possible werewolf, any of whom could be the same people. I should have packed brandy.” He seemed just as disgruntled as her, though she could not immediately determine if it was due to previously missed information or just how obnoxiously tangled everything was getting.

“But why on earth are they being _poisoned_?” she grumbled, frowning at a savaged throw-rug, hands on her hips.

“…perhaps because the poisoner knew the _wer_ would seek them out?” Marbas’ voice had gone quiet, and when she met his eyes, a soft sort of dawning horror stole over her.

“We’re missing one, aren’t we?”

An hour, some sharp words, and one broken door latch later she had a woman’s face pinned to the wall by a grip in her hair, while Marbas methodically ransacked the office. It didn’t take much to get the story, once it was apparent they’d figured out most of it: she was part of the little school cadre as well, and had been sleeping with the first victim off and on as part of some poorly thought out tryst. She hadn’t realized he had been involved in something rather more serious until several sharp words, a thrown bottle of wine, and a rather disturbing transformation occurred that fateful night. She’d fled during the ruckus, and fearing for her own life had latched onto the mildly unhinged idea that the rest of the group of friends either knew about the shapechanger in their midst or were themselves _wer_ as well and planning some diabolical nonsense. She grew increasingly incoherent as she went, and by the end she was simply raving as she was turned over to the local Constables.

“He can’t have fled to the Lady’s Wood,” she muttered as she and Marbas regrouped on the street after giving their statements to the Constables. “Even if he had the idea, it’s much too far on foot for him to go and come back as often as he appears to.”

“Indeed. There are some local bits of forestry, but nothing I’d expect anyone to try hiding out in,” her colleague grumbled alongside her.

“Pardon sir, miss,” one of the Constables had followed them out, and tipped his hat when they turned to look at him. “You’re after the beast, then? Should I assemble a squad?” A moment of wordless consideration between them, and then Marbas shook his head, “That won’t be necessary, Constable. Though we should find the poor fellow, I expect they’re rather badly off by this point. Might you have an idea where to try looking?”

Though openly confused by this tack, the man did indicate there was an old mine not too far off that might be a place to look. They had to chase moonshiners out of it from time to time, or sometimes save a child that went exploring and fell down a shaft. It seemed a good idea as any, and they set off directly.


	18. Cold and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case draws to a close, though not a happy one.

Even standing just inside the entrance of the mine, Ann could tell this would not be easy. The Constables had provided a key to bypass the lock on the barricade, certainly, but she could _feel_ the tunnels stretching down, down into the earth...

Something deep in her mind moaned softly, like ancient trees in the wind.

Shaking her head to clear it, she turned to regard her companion who was frowning away into the darkness himself, an unlit lantern in his hands as though forgotten, the fingertips of one hand tapping lightly against its glass.

"Marbas?"

He didn't startle, didn't even glance her way, "If he's in here, it's going to be a matter of tracking him. Or hoping he finds us."

She wasn't sure 'hope' was the word she'd use in this case, honestly.

Sighing, the man finally turned his attention to his lantern, "Do venture ahead, Miss Eglantine. You are better suited to this environment than I. You have the chalk?"

She displayed it in one hand with a nod, but hesitated a moment before moving away. "Marbas, there's something about these tunnels. I think..." and she frowned, struggling with her understanding of her perceptions a moment. "I think they breach into a natural cave? Don't ask me how I know, there's just a feeling."

"Curious. Well, I suppose we shall see, shan't we?"

Not much later, she found herself enveloped in darkness, feeling it almost as a physical pressure against her skin. Her vision was able to compensate, certainly, but there was more to it than that. Perhaps simply the knowledge of so much earth and stone braced precariously overhead had something to do with it, she reflected as she put a mark on the wall for Marbas to follow. She'd caught a scent that she could only guess was their quarry, though it turned her stomach. Sick, sick and wrong, she had to fight back an instinctual hiss whenever she caught it too strongly. Smears of old blood, sticky patches of aging vomit, and swathes of hair stuck to each only served to further mark the trail.

_The poor thing has to be utterly miserable, if he's still alive..._

Finally, she heard a noise that was not herself or the quiet sounds of Marbas behind her: a scratchy, slithery sound of something moving against stone. Fading backwards, she retreated into the circle of dim light cast by her colleague's lantern with a finger to her lips, urging caution. To his credit, he simply lifted his brows at her in question, remaining quiet.

She considered a moment, then tapped her own ear and pointed onwards in the direction she'd heard the sound. He nodded in response and gestured for her to continue ahead, completely calm to all appearances.

She wished she shared his resolve; she had a bad feeling about this.

As quietly and carefully as she could, she pressed on. She knew she tended to slip from peoples' notice without trying these days, and she hoped she could manage it again here. At least until she had a better idea of what-

_Sudden movement, a glint of fangs!_

She met the creature's lunge, her fingers digging into coarse, greasy fur as she twisted, diverting its course. A flailing claw whipped past her head as it staggered away, and she could tell even in that brief engagement that the thing was disoriented at best. The smell coming off it was horrific; rancid and sickly, her senses rebelled in protest. She would gag if she could.

_Light of Lights, is this...?_

Before it could regain itself, she was upon it, grabbing a fistful of fur as a handle and jamming the hard edge of her bootsole into what she hoped was its knee. It seemed to serve the same function at least, the beast voicing a strangled, gurgling howl as it caromed into the tunnel's wall, its face assisted along the way by her grip. She didn't think she'd hit it that hard, but apparently even the mild jostling of skull against stone was enough to bring the creature slumping to the floor.

A few moments of tense inactivity, and then she released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"I think I found him, Marbas."

As the lantern light stole over the slumped body, she realized why she hadn't been able to get a good idea of what the thing actually looked like. Its form was a singularly unsettling amalgam of animal and hominid, though she couldn't really distinguish individual parts of either. It was less 'wolf' and more just 'large furry thing.'

And, after a moment of regarding it, she realized that its flesh was _moving_. It wasn't the creature itself, though it continued to breathe albeit laboriously. No, the mass of its own flesh was twitching, shifting, as though small creatures burrowed around beneath its hide.

She wasn't sure when she'd stuffed her knuckles into her mouth in horror, but it seemed like an appropriate response so she left them there.

Marbas, for his part, was crouching close to the creature and examining it cautiously with the aid of his cane. Tearing her attention away from the disquieting activity of the _wer_ 's body, she tried to find its face, and instantly wished she hadn't. It was rather like someone had taken a hirsute man's face and stretched it over the skull of a bear, and even discounting that she would label this creature as horrifically sick. Cloudy drool hung from its jaws, the thin fur around its eyes was encrusted with dried pus, and every breath brought bubbles of a most unappealing color from its nostrils. She wasn't sure if she wanted to run screaming or try to comfort the poor thing.

"Advanced aconite poisoning, indeed. The _wer_ have an idiosyncratic response to the toxin, you see." Marbas was as cool and calm as ever, somehow. She, on the other hand, had decided she would just go without breathing if it meant keeping the horrible rancid smell of the beast's illness out of her nose. "He'll be a while recovering, but I believe he can be saved. Good job rendering him unconscious, that will make this much easier."

She felt that mentioning it had just kind of happened would not be helpful, somehow.

With a sort of horrified fascination, she watched as Marbas rolled up one sleeve, hauled open the creature's jaws, and quite simply crammed a packet of something into its throat. There was a horrible gagging and squirming, but just as smoothly and precisely the man had withdrawn his arm and stepped away, wiping the drool and blood from his skin with calm fastidiousness. "There, that will see him on the way to recovery; he should feel much better when he wakes up. Would you do me the kindness of staying with him, Miss Eglantine?" Her startled squawk was met with the most insufferable narrow-eyed smile she had ever seen before he collected his lantern, "You are singularly suited to restraining the boy should he prove troublesome. Please, do bring him to me at our room once he has recovered himself."

She would kill him someday, she just knew it.

Hours later, she could feel the pressure of dawn approaching, even this far underground, and regarded her ersatz charge somewhat dubiously. Over time, his form had... calmed? Those disquieting movements within his flesh had stilled, and now that she thought to check he had rather shrunk as well. In fact... yes, he was looking much more human by this point, come to think of it.

He stirred, and she tensed in anticipation. But after a gargling groan, the young man simply rolled onto his side and curled up a bit. Yes, definitely a young man by this point, though she was willing to bet that not much more of his 'pelt' would be going away, my goodness. His breathing seemed easier, at least, without that worrying bubbling sound from before.

Another brief time of silence and stillness later, he stirred again, and this time seemed a bit more conscious. Not that it did him any favors, given that he almost immediately vomited violently. She'd once had a bad case of food poisoning, and this was similar enough that her sympathetic grimace was heartfelt, even as the spasms wracking his body made her wince. Poor thing.

Once he'd calmed and sat up, panting, she moved carefully into his field of view. He didn't seem to notice her at first, and she was honestly happy to leave it that way for now, letting him get his breath back and steady himself. Maybe he couldn't see her in the dark, either. Hm. Well, one way to find out.

"Please, I know this is probably very strange, but I'm here to help."

He lunged to his feet, teeth bared... and promptly collapsed right back onto his haunches, clutching his head and shaking. Not doing your blood pressure any favors with that kind of behavior, my lad. "I know you've had a truly monstrous time lately, but my associate and I have done what we can to clear the poison from your system. Please, just rest."

His shaking had turned to sobs, and she bit her lip. Given the circumstances that brought them all to this juncture, she could hardly blame him. How must it feel to walk in on someone you love entangled with another, have a violent argument with them, and wake up after a blackout with bits of your lover still in your teeth?

She settled gently next to him, and tucked her arm around his shoulders. Even among the filth and stink and darkness, she just couldn't leave him like this.

He turned his face into her shoulder, wrapped his arms around her so tightly her ribs creaked, and howled grief.


	19. Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The case is wrapped up, and some things are made clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided after some thought that leaving things as they were with the previous chapter was too abrupt of an ending. Not entirely sure I'm happy with this added bit, but I think it does tie things off a bit more neatly.

“I was going to propose.”

They were all standing in the room where it had started. Marbas lurked by the mantelpiece, while she and the _wer_ stood in front of the armchair that had seen rather unfortunate events performed upon it. Once he had calmed somewhat, she had learned his name, and something of his story. The young mister Simon Fletcher had never been the best at dealing with his feelings, or in expressing those feelings to others, and in the end that had been the root of his undoing.

“We’d been close ever since school,” he continued, staring at the ravaged chair with eyes that threatened to spill over at any moment. “He knew I was interested, and I thought he was too. But… I just couldn’t say anything.” A moment of silence, broken only by a cough from the Constable in the front foyer, and then Fletcher dragged in a breath like someone preparing to walk to the headsman’s block.

“I’d had some wine. Gotten myself nerved up to finally say something, to ask. The door was unlocked and I didn’t think…” A slightly choked moment, and then he continued, “Didn’t think anything of it. It’s quiet out here, and we often dropped in on one another. But when I saw them…” His hands clenched around his belt, and she could watch the remembered emotions tangle through his expression, near as fresh as when they’d first occurred. Confusion, betrayal, fury, and a cavernous sadness. “I… said some very unkind things. Threw the bottle I’d brought with me,” and he waved a hand vaguely towards the spot where she’d found the shards of glass and lingering alcohol. “And he laughed at me. Called me a blithering romantic. I… don’t really remember what happened then.”

She knew that pain well, the wrenching ache of a gap in time.

“When I came to,” and his throat worked, his jaw clenching against remembered horror, “there… there wasn’t much left. He’d tried to fight me off with a knife.” A pause, a few heartbeats of silence and pain, “I tried to finish it, once I realized what had happened.” A pained, strained laugh, “Didn’t work.”

Marbas had told her something about the werewolf condition after she had brought Mister Fletcher back to his home, while he was making himself presentable. The _wer_ possessed a phenomenally robust physique even in their human form, to the point where wounds that would be the undoing of any mere mortal might be, at best, a mere inconvenience. Indeed, the state they had found him in was only brought about by the ingestion of enough poisonous aconite extract to kill five other men on the spot.

“I think I went a little mad then. Ended up in that mine,” he finally continued, words gaining a bit of momentum as he apparently decided to just bull through the whole works in one go. “I stayed out there for a while, just hiding. I wasn’t sure what had happened, not really. But a man was dead because of me, even if I didn’t mean it. I was terrified.” Even leaving out the more outlandish details, she supposed any country lad that hadn’t even reached his quarter century would feel similarly. “After a bit, I tried to find Michael. He’d know what to do, he’d always been the one to get us out of things when we caused a ruckus as kids,” and he laughed without humor, a puff of pained air. “But he was dead, and… there was something. A smell. I blacked out again.”

“That would have been the aconite,” Marbas finally spoke up, breaking into the lad’s monolog quietly. “Also called wolfsbane, exactly for this reason. It drives people with your condition into a near-rabid state.” He looked ready to continue, but managed to swallow what would probably have been a fascinating lecture when she glared at him as forcefully as she could manage. Fletcher was looking rather ragged as it was, and they needed to see this finished.

“Rabid,” said young man snickered softly, only mildly hysterically. He was holding up remarkably well, all things considered. Probably in that numb state where nothing seems real after a shock, she knew it well these days, and she laid her fingers gently on his arm, offering what support she could. “A good a word as any, I suppose. From then, the time until you found me is… not very clear.” He lifted a hand to scrub at his face, grinding the heel of his palm into one eye as though fighting back a headache. Or smothering a tearful breakdown. “It’s all just such a mess.”

“Mister Fletcher, this has certainly been a terrible time for everyone involved,” she started softly, “but the matter remains that you have murdered a man.” He turned stricken eyes to her, and she patted his arm carefully to stave off the words she could see tangling up behind his teeth. “Given the circumstances, much of the mess that brought us out here in the first place can hardly be laid at your feet, and the Constables have our full findings. But nonetheless, even a crime of passion must be addressed by the law, don’t you agree?”

He seemed to be struggling with himself for a moment, but then deflated, shoulder sagging and head drooping into a nod. “I never meant…”

“I know.”

His steps were heavy as she guided him back out of the room, to the waiting Constable and on to the station. She and Marbas were in agreement that the sentencing would probably be lenient given all the circumstances; the poor lad was a wreck. But by the same token, she couldn’t help feeling nervous on Fletcher’s behalf as well. It’s hardly every day a judge needs sit on a case involving an unrealized werewolf caught in a love triangle, after all.

She resolved to try and keep in touch with the fellow. They had some things in common.


End file.
